


A Man's Soul to Waste

by orphan_account



Series: Sympathy for the Devil [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bitterness, M/M, Men in love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 13:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16347236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It has been a year since Rick opened Negan's throat and his wounds have far from healed. Bitter and alone, he waits for Rick to pay him a visit. When he does, he's surprised at what he wants.Sequel toSympathy for the Devil





	A Man's Soul to Waste

It was because of Rick Grimes that Negan lay on this shitty mattress, so thin that he felt the rusty springs dig into every hill and valley of his back. He shifted -- a fruitless attempt at getting comfortable -- making the boxspring protest in earnest, not that he gave a flying fuck. Running a tongue over his dry lips, Negan stared up at the ceiling like the pathetic motherfucker this side of fucktown that he was.

He hadn’t realized he was touching his throat until the tickle of his fingertips made him start. It wasn’t an easy feat -- he had about a year's worth of man bush he had to navigate around to find the scar, but it was still there. The flesh was tough and sinewy underneath his fingertips, running in a straight line across his jugular. Rick had pretty good aim for a guy who gutted the neck of his lover.

Negan let out a puff of breath as his nails dug into his skin. He ripped his hand away, only to let it fall off the side of the bed, knuckles brushing against the cold floor.

Jesus, he had been such an asshole. He thanked God no one knew about the soft spot he had developed for ol’ blue eyes. He had let himself get used and abused like some 15 year old kid who had nutted for the first time. He had met Rick when the man was on his knees and surrounded, but they had parted while he was on his back and alone. Fucking dramatic irony at its finest.

His eyes flicked to the small window at the top of his cell, a small and stupid comfort -- a true “fuck you” from the Alexandria Safe Zone. A tiny swatch of blue sky, a wisp of cloud, a small taste of what you will never see again. Fuck. _That_. Negan turned his back with an indignant grunt. He wasn’t sure what had provoked Rick’s mercy that day. He questioned Rick’s little declaration every single second he sat rotting in the dark. The longer he sat, the more he realized the deputy sheriff had been spinning a web of bullshit --

Negan pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and took a deep breath. Rick should have let him gone tits up. _Anything_ would have been better than this. God fucking help these people if -- when he got out.

~*~

Time was only a concept down in the cell. Negan couldn’t say how long he lay there, reflecting on just how boned he was before a waft of fresh air filled his lungs. Soon, the room was painted with a sliver of sunlight. With narrowed eyes, Negan sat up. It sure as shit wasn’t time to eat. If there was one thing he could do do in his own personal hell, it was keep track of his food. No, this was definitely no room service.

The footsteps were slow and hesitant, heels scuffing against the concrete floor because of a familiar bow-legged gait.

Negan slumped against the wall. “So, the jilted lover returns.” His tone was as smooth as honey, but he knew that Rick could hear the venom oozing underneath. “How long have you been giving me the cold shoulder, prick?” Jesus, he would never get used to the Darth Vader rasp that came from his throat, so different from his usual boom. _You were right Luke. You were riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight._

“You told me to fuck off.”

“I was being dramatic.” He had wanted Rick to fuck off under that tree, that goddamn windowpane of stained glass swaying in the breeze like a page out of some shitty poetry book. It was a romantic spot for a final battle royale and a damn nice place to finally admit to someone that you were in love with their sorry ass, but nope. _Nope_. “I’m starting to think you wished I was in the ground with my dick poking out of the dirt.”

“That’s not it.” Rick’s voice was doing that gentle Georgian whisper you could pour out of a syrup bottle. He came to a stop about a foot away from the bars. Negan could feel his eyes on him, but he refused to turn his head. “I wanted to know if you were all right.”

Negan’s fingers curled. “If shitting in a bucket and having nothing to do but spank it is all right, then yeah, I’m in the Ritz fucking Carlton.” He tipped his head backwards, focusing his eyes on the ceiling and hoping that he looked like a man indifferent. Negan’s insides were on fire. He wanted to bring Rick to his knees, see the fear and desperation that had shined in his eyes their first night. “Tell me, prick, do Scooby and the gang know you were knockin’ boots with the big bad Negan?”

The room was filled with dead air before Rick answered. “It’s not the right time. We’re trying to build something and wounds are still fresh. People still want to kill you. For them to accept what we...had...they’ll need time to forgive.”

Negan had worked hard to maintain an emotionless façade, but he couldn’t bite down the bitter chuckle. “‘What we had,’” he murmured, not even trying to mask the second laugh. “Tell me, because I do _want-to-know_ , what did we have?”

Not only was Negan beaten, he was broken.

~*~

Rick dragged his swollen tongue across the roof of his mouth, feeling the dry grooves of his palette. He had expected a barrage of vicious curses to fill every inch of the cell when he stepped through the door. Negan’s even tone and soft words were more unnerving than any slur he could have shouted. Rick hadn’t just defeated a man, he had neutered a dog.

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing with a dry click. Negan had been right -- Rick carried him around like a scarlet letter sewn onto his breast pocket. Even after a year, his friends still held him at arm’s length. Nobody said anything -- not outright -- but Rick could feel the hard stares and short answers, but not even the pressure from his comrades could make him regret his mercy. He was in love with the man in the cell, and it shamed him to think that he had left him to decay. Someone like Negan wasn’t meant to be in a cage. So he had avoided him, unable to face his greatest shame.

“It’s been a year since Carl died. Today.” Rick studied the scuffed tips of his boots, his hands clenched at his sides. When all remained still, he continued. “Can you come closer?” His only answer was the creak of the mattress and the whisper of feet across the ground. Soon an ambiguous shadow loomed over him, broad shouldered and every bit as imposing as he remembered.

Even in the dark, Negan’s teeth still glinted. “Sorry ‘bout your dead kid.” Large fingers wrapped around the bars. “If you came for a sympathetic dick tug for your stupid fucking mistake, you’ve come to the wrong place.” Negan tilted away, as if harsh volume of his voice was physically pushing him backwards, his damaged throat only allowing the expletives to spew out in a sharp hiss. For the first time, the man appeared angry.

Rick felt a surge of hope, but his expression revealed nothing. “I was going to visit his grave and I was hoping you would come.”

Negan’s grip became white knuckled. “This is some sick shit, Rick-”

“I’m serious. It’s what…” Rick’s hands found his hips as his head dropped between his shoulders. “It’s what Carl would have wanted.”

“It’s what you want,” Negan parroted from that afternoon under the tree. His voice lost its vicious edge.

“Shave, take a shower. We don’t have electricity anymore, but it’s better than what you got down here. It’s 3AM, so no one’s out.”

Negan’s eyes became slits. “If this is some bullshit attempt to literally rip me a new one, I will haunt you while you shit.”

Rick’s answer came by the jingle of a keyring. “I _will_ shoot you if you try anything,” was his simple and only warning as he turned the lock and stepped aside. “We have until 6:30, when the sun rises.”

Negan watched as the door swung open, looking spanked stupid for only a second. “Guess I’m just gonna have to raise some hell, then.” He was gone before the old deputiy sheriff had time to reply.

~*~

The corner of Negan’s mouth dipped as he dragged the washcloth down his face. Holy shit, he forgot how good it felt to be clean shaven -- he forgot what he _looked like_ clean shaven. Hands gripping the porcelain sink, Negan rested his head against the mirror and closed his eyes.

_I could gut him with a chunk of this mirror._

His breath fogged across the glass. It would be some serious divine justice if he sliced Rick open like a Christmas ham. One jab of his elbow and he could register himself as a lethal weapon. Then it would be a matter of finding his shit and...he shook his head. Even if he wanted to string Rick up by his balls --and a good part of him did -- he sure as shit wasn’t going to go scurrying off into the wilderness without a fight, and that’s what he’d have to do if he took down Rick Grimes, the Great and the Powerful.

“You look good.” Rick was lurking in the hallway, one hip jutted against the wall and arms crossed. Playing the role of a woman scorned, Negan hadn’t gotten a good look at him earlier; his beard was shorter and his curls had been cropped down into a crew cut.

“You look like shit.” He was shocked by the small laugh that bubbled out of the other man’s chest. Rick was quick to wipe a hand over his mouth. Whether it was to stifle the noise for his daughter or hide the fact that Negan made him laugh, Negan wasn’t sure.

Rick turned, beckoning Negan with a hand. “C’mon.”

Negan always imagined freedom would come with bloodshed or some sarcastic remark; what he hadn’t expected was the slight mistiness in his eyes as he felt a breeze for the first time. There was sound in the world -- crickets, the rustle of leaves -- and everything didn’t stink of piss. He scrubbed at his face when two boots fell next to his.

“It’s slow, but we’re growing.” Rick looked over the darkened neighborhood. There was little to see with no electricity but the indiscernible shapes of construction. “You tried to break us, but we’re thriving, Negan.”

Negan’s lip curled as he took a step back. “Are we gonna go pay our respects to one gnarly dude or discuss the the goddamn resilience of the human spirit? Fuck me, Rick. You’ve reached unfathomable amounts of lame since you jammed your fist up my pert ass.” He didn’t make it down one step before a hand encircled his wrist.

The corner of Rick’s lip twitched as he studied his boots. Without raising those baby blues, he shook his head. “Everyone -- _everyone_ wants you dead. I can keep my eye on you here.”

Well, spank his ass and call him Sally. Negan’s chest rose in shallow breaths as he scrutinized the douche canoe before him. “Look at me, Rick,” he said it with enough authority that Rick did as he was told. Negan took a step forward, looming in Rick’s space. “What the chuckle fuck are you saying?”

Rick didn’t answer.

~*~

Even in the dark the stetson was battered from the days it hung on the cross, baking under the sun or soaking in the summer rain. Negan remembered when Carl glared up at him from underneath the brim, machine gun in hand, ready to take him down under a rain of bullets. It had nearly made his dick run away scared. What an awesome fucking day.

At some point Rick’s hand had slid into his. Negan hovered between the need to belittle him or snap his fingers, but as they stood over the patch of dirt, he just didn’t have it in him. It wasn’t a time to kick a man while he was down, not while he was gazing down at his dead son.

Negan’s face twisted into a grimace. “You know why I didn’t kill him, Rick?”

“What?” Rick’s head snapped upward, blue eyes clearing from the fog he had been wading through.

Negan rubbed at his chin, hand searching for the beard that was no longer there. He was suddenly feeling pretty fucking stupid, but he could feel the misery radiating off of the guy and he decided to bite the bullet. “It would have been a damn shame to put down someone with such a set of balls, and Carl’s were the size of planets. I mean, ho- _ly_ shit. But - and I’m really whipping my dick out in the wind, here -- I really just wanted you to see that I wasn’t a monster.”

He worked hard to keep his eyes straight ahead. “I busted your balls. I had to - to keep you in line, but I always liked you Rick, pain in the ass and all.”

Rick laughed, small and breathy. “Didn’t seem like it.” He started when a pair of lips brushed against his temple.

~*~

Darkness had just begun to surrender to the light, bathing the sky in an ethereal blue glow. They didn’t have long before sunrise.

There’s a thoughtful silence between them, a quiet understanding that Negan needed time to think. He tugged at his lip with his teeth -- an action previously so condescending and sexual now anxious and self-conscious. He kept his eyes ahead, not only to look at Carl’s grave, but to avoid Rick’s gaze. As someone who couldn’t go two seconds without invading Rick’s space or intimidate him with a single touch, it was unsettling.

Rick slid his thumb across the back of Negan’s hand. “We can go-”

“I love you, Rick.” Negan’s face puckered, as if he had bit down on a lemon. “It’s really irritating and I wish I didn’t because I hate your guts, but I do.”

It certainly wasn’t the type of love confession Rick had seen in the movies, but it had him feeling lighter than air. He was only afforded a moment’s respite before Negan tore his hand from his grasp, flicking his wrist as if to rid himself of something revolting. In an instant Rick felt himself crashing back to a place where his son was dead and he had cut Negan’s throat.

Negan sucked at his teeth, eyeing the ragged hat. “The only thing I have in that cell are my thoughts and I can’t help but think how things would be if we met under different circumstances -- if you hadn’t pussy footed around in the dark and killed twenty of my men.” His hand dropped to his side. “You thought you were tough shit, but you’re just a fart in the wind.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Shut the _fuck_ up and think about how your son didn’t even get to grab a titty because of you. That’s some shit parenting, Rick.”

Rick nodded, nudging the ground with his boot as they both stood there in silence, watching the sun rise on their tragedy.

**Author's Note:**

> Can I make these men happy? No. Something else while I'm working on my really long oneshot that I just _can't get right._
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://dennhomchikn.tumblr.com/), mates


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